


Don't let the fireflies escape

by Nightmarefuel_Industries



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, OC dies pretty quickly, Other DST characters mentioned, Some angst, a bit of gentle consensual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmarefuel_Industries/pseuds/Nightmarefuel_Industries
Summary: Maxwell runs into a stranger near the frog pond and try to convince him that it's safer not to be outside at night. The stranger doesn't trust him.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Don't let the fireflies escape

"Come on, pal," Maxwell said to the stranger for what must be the tenth time. "I promise you, you don't want to be out here after nightfall."

""Uh-hu," the stranger said. "Right."

"Right," Maxwell agreed. He bit his lip and looked at the horizon. They didn't have time for this. He took a few steps towards the house. The stranger didn't follow. "Just come with me."

"Why should I trust you?"

Maxwell cursed. It had to be Wilson's doing. The fool had tinkered with something magical to bring this other fool here. He didn't remember everything he did as a king, but pawns who only knew him from that time either ran away screaming or tried to kill him, Wilson had been the odd exception, and this one did neither. "You're new. You don't understand. There are bad things out here." He pointed at the forest.

"What, like wolves?"

"Yes. Among other things. Come _on_." He took a grip of the man's arm and started to walk. The stranger followed reluctantly.

"Your hat just moved."

"Yes, it does that, don't talk so much." Red Eyes was a warm presence on top of his head. Usually silent, almost forgotten, of course making a fuss now.

"And what the heck are you even wearing? It looks like some kind of costume."

"It was. Sort of."

The stranger stumbled, tugged at his arm. "What for?"

"I'll tell you if you keep walking. I was a stage magician. You see that house? I live there. With my friend. If we can just get there before dark. We have food. I bet you're hungry ... Wilson!" He shouted. Wilson could help him if the guy kept struggling. He was stronger. If they could just get this idiot inside, perhaps they would all live to see the next sunrise.

"Max, come on, where have you been? Who is that?"

"Where are you taking me? Who is that? Oh God, what do you want with me? Let me go!"

Wilson ran up to them as the stranger started to struggle in earnest. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is for your own good." Wilson hauled the stranger the rest of the way and over the doorstep. Maxwell banged the door closed behind them and in the face of the darkness.

"My dear science, I don't have the nerves for this. Just calm down, I'll explain in a moment," Wilson said to the stranger who sat down on the chair Wilson pulled out for him. His eyes darted between Wilson and Maxwell. Wilson went to the fireplace to put more wood on it. "I'm going to let out the fireflies now," he said to Maxwell. "So don't let them get out. Look after him."

Easier said than done. As soon as Wilson turned his back, the stranger sprang up and was out of the door. "No!" Wilson screamed. "Come back!" He stood at the doorstep and kept yelling into the darkness for the man to come back inside. Maxwell feared he would run out into the darkness after him and kept an arm around Wilson's waist should he try. They waited in silence. Wilson clung to him and shook when they heard the man scream. It went on for too long and seemed to come from all directions. "Charlie!" Wilson screamed, "let go of him!" Of course she didn't. When it was finally over, Maxwell dragged Wilson inside and closed the door again. At least the fireflies hadn't made a break for it.

"What if he's not dead?" Wilson whispered. "What if he comes back?"

"He's dead. He won't come back. And if he does, it isn't like the door is locked"

Wilson dumped down on the chair the stranger had just sat in and slumped forward. A firefly landed on his nose. He waved it away. "Who was he?"

"I have no idea. Wouldn't even tell me his name. I saw him drinking from the frog pound, but it was already late dusk, and I tried to get him to come back here."

"Why did he run away? We just wanted to help him."

Wilson probably didn't have anything to do with the stranger showing up after all.

Maxwell shrugged and went to the fireplace to collect the stew Wilson had cooked. A cynical voice insisted that there was only enough food for two, and now there would be no need to explain why there was only one sleeping place. Even if the house was cramped, they couldn't really use the only-one-tent excuse here. He put a bowl of stew in front of Wilson and sat down on his chair with more care. When they lived in Hamlet, they had good furniture thanks to the shop Woodie sat up and his craftsmanship. Winona was a decent carpenter as well. Wilson? Things he made tended to fall apart. The house itself was solid, but that was because it had been built by his shadow clones.

Perhaps because a stranger had been close to examining it, Maxwell looked around at the cramped space: Shelves with trinkets, a fireplace, straw mattress under a pile of blankets in front of it. Chests on top of each other lined the walls. Wilson's workstation with its machines and whatever half-assembled invention Wilson was working on. Or their shared workstation, really, it was just that it was mostly Wilson who used it. The latest portal they had constructed, in the corner, glowing faintly on and off. They would have to go through it some day, but it had been there for seasons and they rarely spoke about it. They had of course no idea what inhospitable corner of the Constant it led to. And here, they had a house. And each other. Going through it didn't hold much appeal.

He took off his hat before eating and lifted the rabbit out. He petted it between its long ears and small horns and wished and didn't wish that it still recognized him as its creator.

"I still think that's really weird."

Maxwell let the rabbit go. Wilson looked after Red Eyes as it ran into a corner.

"Yes, Wilson, it's really weird. Please do elaborate on the time where you wanted a _pog_ as a pet."

That silenced Wilson, and he kept eating, probably thinking about the stranger. "I want to do something," Wilson said when he put down his spoon. "There's no way I can sleep. Can I wash your hair?"

"That depends."

"We have enough water for it inside."

"Then sure. But why?"

"That rabbit probably pooped on your head."

"It did not, I trained it well and I haven't fed it anything today."

"Poor thing. Okay, so I just want to do it." He sat the water to heat and started searching through one of the chests. "I know we have some soap left somewhere." Wilson needed a bath much more than Maxwell did, his trousers were muddied up to his knees and there was even mud in his hair. Ever getting his hair back to a presentable state was probably a lost cause. Wilson had panicked when Maxwell once suggested just cutting it off as he did with his beard when he didn't have time to shave properly. Maxwell liked to touch Wilson's hair, and by all accounts, Wilson liked when he did it as well. But there was something weird about the hair, like there was lumps inside of it connected to his skull. "What, do you think I'm growing horns now?" Wilson had asked and laughed the high-pitched laughter that didn't invite questioning the one time he brought that up.

"I'll make our tea as well," Wilson said. "That was some really strange clothes he was wearing," he added.

"Indeed," Maxwell said. "Those metal rings in his nose and lips? I have never seen anyone who looked like that."

His shirt had had its sleeves ripped off, leaving his arms bare with a skull tattooed on one biceps and a heart on the other making for a confusing message. He hadn't been injured to account for ruining his clothes to make bandages.

Wilson shook his head. "Neither have I. It's been a really long time since we spoke to someone new. I would have liked to hear news from the other world. Come on now, turn the chair around" He put a bowl of water on the table and started to massage soap into Maxwell's skull.

"I don't know why you bother, there's really not much of it left."

"And it's not like you have anyone to impress by taking care of yourself, for example by not letting that rabbit scratch the last bits off."

"Face it, Higgsbury, you're stuck with me."

Wilson slapped him lightly on the shoulder and mumbled to himself as he went to get more water. Maxwell tipped his head back over the table, and it felt kind of heavenly when Wilson poured handful after handful of herbal-smelling warm water over his scalp. "I don't think I can even start to describe how good this feels." Wilson hummed in response. He really didn't deserve this kindness, but he wasn't going to turn it down.

"Got one." He could hear the insect being crushed between Wilson's nails. "Nasty critters. Do you think if I ask the fireflies in Latin, perhaps they will magically aid us in the war against the bed bugs?"

"No."

Wilson asked anyway, as he was drying Maxwell's hair. He put down the cloth and stood in the middle of the floor, arms spread out and spoke to the swarm. Of course, the fireflies didn't change their behaviour, clustered together in one of the top corners.

"Oh, it was worth a try. Here is your tea." Wilson insisted the unsweetened tea was good for their teeth, and it had become a relaxing bedtime ritual. Maxwell usually tried to guess the flavour, but even if there were a few dandelion-like flowers floating around, the dirt taste of birchnut bark was unmistakable. Wilson also insisted that that helped against all sorts of pain, though Maxwell was still waiting to experience that effect. Was Wilson hurting?

"Still thinking about the stranger?" He took another sip of tea with his free hand and looked down at the other, four thin fingers interlaced with Wilson's on the table top. He touched his shin to Wilson's. Wilson looked down at their legs and up at Maxwell and drank the rest of his tea.

"I still don't think I can sleep, but do you want to come to bed now anyway?"

"Sure thing, pal."

Wilson dropped all his clothes and kicked them into a pile before he dove under the blankets.

Maxwell hung his over the back of one of the chairs. He didn't catch the need to hurry, playing a bit with Wilson's patience was fun, and feeling Wilson's eyes on his body made his skin prickle in a nice sort of way. He didn't like his body much, couldn't get used to the idea of being this old, but Wilson's appreciative look never failed to make him feel more confident.

"So you want me to help you relax?" He breathed in the scent of Wilson's hot skin as Wilson pulled him under his blanket. Wilson would probably kick off the blankets right after falling asleep because he got too hot and then wake up in the middle of the night and complain he was cold. It was annoying but also endearing. Yes, there were one of the stumps of bone? Horn? connected to his head.

"You're not too tired?"

Being tired and being able to sleep were different matters, though having solid walls between them and the outside along with Wilson next to him and fireflies did help.

"Too tired for you? Hardly. So, you can drop your false modesty."

Wilson tried to say something that sounded like how Maxwell fell asleep when he talked. Maxwell tried to drown it out with kisses and caresses and grinding their erections together. He was a bit more insistent than usual and finally made Wilson shut up. He yanked Wilson's hair a bit back and squeezed his butt. "I want you," he whispered. Not very articulate. But clear enough.

Wilson let out a long breath. "Okay." Wilson wasn't always too keen on being fucked but seemed to be in the right mood for it tonight. He rolled over with his back to Maxwell. Maxwell got up to get the jar of oil.

That seemed to be Wilson's cue to start talking again, however. "Isn't it sort of wrong, though?" he said as soon as Maxwell was back behind him.

"Wrong?" Wrong, what? "Aren't we sort of over that?" Over it, many nights ago? He trailed his fingers down along Wilson's spine and Wilson shivered.

"No, I mean, we're over that wrong and at the 'someone just died' wrong, and here we are, going at it."

"Okay, but you didn't know him. Did you change your mind?" He tried not to be too disappointed, but kind of hated the stranger at that moment.

"No. I want you to say it's not wrong."

"Of course not, he'll probably be back again somewhere, and it wasn't even your fault."

Leaving the option open, of course, that it could be someone else's fault. Maxwell didn't like to dwell on that. As long as Wilson was safe, that was really good enough for him.

"I just wish he hadn't died. So, it's okay?"

"Yes. Just try to relax and feel good." He went at Wilson's neck again with deep kisses, and Wilson seemingly did as suggested. The sounds Maxwell's thrusts drew from him were more intoxicating than anything.

"Good?" he whispered when he had regained enough breath.

"Yeah. Very. Kiss me again." Wilson took the piece of cloth Maxwell had been trying to dry him off with as he did, then turned around to cuddle.

"It just feels wrong," Wilson whispered. "That he died, and we didn't do anything." He lay curled up to Maxwell, a hand on his shoulder while one of Maxwell's rested on his hip. Wilson spoke into his chest. 

What was there to say to that? Maxwell didn't feel particularly bad. He wished the stranger hadn't gotten clawed by Charlie, but then, he wished he hadn't showed up in the first place. Luckily, Wilson did fall asleep without demanding a proper answer, just listening to Maxwell who could do nothing better but repeat that they did what they could. Maxwell listened to his breathing mixed with the whirr of the machines and the cracking of logs. Even if he couldn't sleep, that was comforting.

But he must have slept, because the next thought he remembered was that Wilson was gone. He sat up and before he could think much, he was feeding Red Eyes a carrot and then another. He laughed at the animal. Clever one. Perhaps there was times where animals really were the ones to stand on the stage and make tricks with humans. He got clothed and went to look for Wilson.

Wilson was digging the soil of one of the farms. "You found his body?"

"No, not yet."

"I'll go look for it. What are you planting?"

"Some seeds I got from Sammy. I'm 90 per cent sure these are asparagus. And if we're lucky, these are toma roots."

"When did you talk with Sam?"

Wilson leaned on his shovel.

"Come to think of it, I don't really remember. Perhaps I got them somewhere else." He stared blankly ahead, trying to remember.

"Hey pal, it's okay," Maxwell said quickly and leaned in to hug him. Some of the warmth and intimacy of the night returned to him and he squeezed Wilson's shoulder.

"I don't want to leave the house," Wilson said.

"We'll just build another house. And we'll still have each other."

"You don't know that."

He didn't. But the stranger might well be the catalyst that made them move on. It was easy to put if off when they were relatively comfortable, and there weren't, say, a Wigfrid with them to charge head-first into the unknown. But where were Wigfrid and the rest? They couldn't just stay indefinitely. He pretended to study the seeds. "Yeah, toma roots, probably. Be careful, or Red Eyes will eat them all." He let go of Wilson.

"Don't give them to it! If we can't eat it, at least set it free instead of giving it our food," Wilson complained.

Maxwell waved at him and went to look for the body. He found it right at the outskirt of the forest. The hidden creatures of the Constant had already picked the skeleton clean, and there was nothing useful left with it. He looked for the metal rings that had adorned the stranger's face when he still had skin and meat attached to those bones but couldn't find them anywhere. He dug a small grave under an evergreen and covered the bones with soil. He looked up at the sky. "I hope you're happy with this, Charlie."

"I took care of it," he told Wilson. Wilson had planted a few more farms. He stopped his work and nodded. For a second, as he looked at Wilson, Maxwell didn't know what season it was, what Wilson, what life.

"Hey," Wilson said, "you look pale. Sit down for a moment." Maxwell did. He sat on his backpack next to the farm. His suit - costume, as the stranger had generously called it - was dirty from digging the grave, and he absent-mindedly tried to brush away the dirt from his pant legs. Wilson disappeared into their house and brought back Red Eyes that kicked in his arms. It only calmed down when Maxwell held it. "Perhaps it can work for it's stay," Wilson said with a smile. "Come help me with the farms when you feel better."

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a dream I had (which in no way indicates that I'm too obsessed with this game). The poor guy thought Maxwell was some kind of serial killer.


End file.
